


Milk and Anger

by girlpornparadise



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Anger, F/M, Fear, Stupidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:46:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27418228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlpornparadise/pseuds/girlpornparadise
Summary: It seemed innocent enough, but maybe you were just stupid.
Relationships: Horacio Carrillo & Reader, Horacio Carrillo/Reader, Horacio Carrillo/You
Kudos: 17





	Milk and Anger

It was just a quick walk to the store you told yourself. You only need milk. Get in. Get out. 

It had been stifling being under 24/7 guard, like a grounded child or a chaperoned teen. So when the shift changed, you thought you'd just nip out for a quick breath of air and a pint of milk for breakfast tomorrow. 

Your walk had been uneventful, you were an anonymous face in the crowd. You looked like anyone else going about their day. Why wouldn't you? You paid for the pint and the cashier flashed you a friendly smile. You'd been in before as it was only a few blocks away. No big deal, you had reassured yourself. No big deal.

It had been a mistake. A BIG mistake.

You had tried to slip in the back of your house quietly with your purchase, but who were you kidding. He had trained these men himself. They weren't stupid. They knew you weren't stupid aside from what you'd just tried to pull. Of course they ratted you out. They were selected specifically for their loyalty. 

You hear him put his keys down on the small table by the front door. You can tell his mood by the jingle. If he tosses them, he's in an exasperated mood, if he places them down gently he's calm, if you don't hear them, he's in stealth mode and wants to sneak attack a hug. But today it was loud, a forceful slam. It almost never happens, but. He. Is. Angry.

The discomfort starts creeping up from the pit of your stomach into your throat.

As he makes his way into the house you hear him slam down his wallet and gun and with each hit your regret climbs another rung of the ladder from your stomach to your brain.

He doesn't sit to take off his shoes. Instead he finds you in the kitchen, like a heat seeking missile. 

"I hear you went out for a little adventure today." It's level and quiet but pointed and very deliberately stated.

You imagine this is how he starts an interrogation at work. Level, cold, calculating.

"I understand we needed milk," His voice is slightly louder. "And that it clearly couldn't wait."

"Well…" you start, but immediately realize your mistake. He holds up a hand to silence you and it is very effective in doing so. His eyes are burrowing into yours now.

"You couldn't  _ possibly _ wait for the shift change so someone could walk with you to the store. You  _ needed _ to walk to the store then. Right then." His breathing is heavier.

You put down the dish you were drying slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements.

"You thought you could just sneak out. You thought you were being clever waiting for the shift change. You thought your little walk in the sunshine was nothing of note." The edge in his voice is sharp and cutting.

"Well, I hope your little jaunt to the shop was worth it. Worth the phone call I'd receive at work notifying me of the shooting 2 blocks from my home. Worth me rushing to the scene, wondering what poor soul had lost their life this time. It couldn't be you. It couldn't be my wife whom I'd left carefully protected at home. No, it had to be some random casualty."

He's backed you against the kitchen sink and he's towering over you now as you cower under his presence.

"But no, I hope the milk was worth it. Worth me looking down to see it spilt on the sidewalk, mixed with your blood!"

His eyes are frantic, his neck is tense and straining, his hands are fists, and his voice is thunder.

"Or worse! You could have been taken. Snatched and subjected to unspeakable acts. Tortured. Taken apart piece by piece to punish me. And, and…"

And there it is. The fear in your eyes.

The fear he had elicited from so many men. So many terrible, terrified men, and let's be honest, boys. Tied to a post, beneath his punishing fists, at the wrong end of a gun. It was all the same fear.

And here it was in you.

He had promised himself everyday, every damn day of his goddamn life that he would leave it at work, that he  _ could _ leave it at work. That he could come home to his peaceful sanctuary, the heart of which was you. You were his heart.

He blanches. His hands uncharacteristically shaking. With rage. With rage and fear.

You exhale shakily and the words "I'm sorry Horacio." Quake from your mouth. Your animal brain is on high alert and your flight response is screaming. Without meaning to, a plea escapes your lips, barely a whisper. "Please don't hurt me."

His expression turns from that of anger to that of horror. His eyebrows knit and his forehead creases. His mouth drops open slightly and his fists unclench.

You are still trembling when suddenly he drops to his knees. 

Tears are streaming down your face now and your chest heaves with sobs, but no sound comes out.

He kneels before you, a beggar, a sinner, a man who is desperate for your forgiveness. 

"No, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He whispers.

The ghosts of tears are wavering in the pools of his eyes as he looks up at you. Despite his large frame he looks small and afraid.

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tight to him, head pressed against your trembling stomach.

You'd never seen such fear in him before.  _ He'd _ never felt it. A man who looked death in the face everyday with a calm collected demeanor. Who stared down the country's most dangerous men and ultimately broke them. He'd never been so scared.

You hesitantly touch him, and smooth your hand over his hair.

"Forgive me mi amor. I beg of you, forgive me." His voice like that of a man on his deathbed.

Your hands are on his broad but hunched shoulders. Your eyes blinking away the tears as you struggle to look into his.

"No mi amor, I need you to forgive  _ me _ . I was stupid, so stupid and selfish and, and…" your weakness overcomes you and you fall to your knees.

He clasps your hands in his, both of you kneeling, as if in prayer. Staring into each other's eyes, seeking forgiveness in equal measure.

"I love you more than life itself. If I were to lose you, mine would be over." His voice wavering slightly.

"To think I could end your life so carelessly…" you're filled with shame and guilt.

"You hold my heart in your hands. Every day I leave for work, I leave it with you." His expression has softened and his words are earnest. 

"I promise to treat it kindly and with more care. It's the most precious thing to me. You're the most precious thing to me."

He scoops you into his arms and holds you tight to him, trying to envelope you in his most protective embrace. You sniffle and shake and he squeezes you tighter to his chest, as if to wring the fear from your bones.

As you begin to still, he releases his grip. His calloused thumb wipes the tears from your cheeks. And he plants a chaste kiss on your lips. 

"I love you." He whispers.

"I love you too." You say matching his tone.

You both stand and you lead him up the stairs and to the bedroom. He strips off his polo and his shoes, and you both crawl into bed. You lay there, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. Clinging to each other so that you could never lose one another again.


End file.
